


Drift

by newbie93



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1970871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newbie93/pseuds/newbie93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Fitzimmons Week.<br/>Day 4 Prompt: Stupidity</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fitz loses it on a mission and Jemma loses it shortly after. (OR Fitz gets jealous and Jemma gets angry)</p>
<p>All mistakes are my own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drift

He hears a loud crack and desperately hopes that it’s from the other man’s nose rather than his own hand. Based on the searing pain that shoots up his arm, he’s almost certain that the distinct sound of a bone breaking did in fact come from him.

“Fitz!” The pain in his arm fades slightly, replaced with a burning in his ear from where Jemma has grabbed it, pulling him away from the man on the ground. He feels a bit like a child, clutching his arm to his chest as his livid best friend uses two fingers to tug him away from the commotion. It’s all a bit embarrassing but he can’t help smiling as he sees a glimpse of a bloody nose through the legs of the gathering crowd.

 “Holy shit Fitz, that was amazing!” Skye’s voice comes in through the coms and his smile grows until he catches the look that Jemma is giving him. “You totally K/O’d that sleaze!” Skye is singing him praises and for every compliment she gives Jemma’s fingers tighten on his ear. He’s not going to complain though. He has a feeling that he’s getting off easy and that there would be a lot more pain and yelling were they not in such a public setting.

They make it through the main entrance of the gala when Jemma deposits him rather unceremoniously on the floor hissing, “Stay put,” before walking away with her phone out, no doubt requesting an early extraction. He knows she’ll only be gone for a few minutes so he does what he can to quickly make up a reasonable excuse for his violent outburst. He knows that his actions were completely understandable, Skye’s reaction told him as much, but they weren’t necessarily _logical,_ which was the only thing Simmons would willingly accept as reasonable justification.

By the time she rejoins him, he’s given up trying to find any reason why punching the host of this charity gala was beneficial for the mission. “Five minutes.” He flinches a bit at her harsh tone and looks up to find her pointedly avoiding his gaze. Her posture is rigid and he can see every muscle and ligament tighten in restraint. He’s been her partner long enough to know that she’s using every ounce of energy she has not to snap at him.

It’s a long and silent 5 minutes.

A black SUV pulls up and before Fitz can even point it out Jemma is walking towards it, leaving Fitz on the ground without a backwards glance. It’s only when he lets out a soft yelp as he accidentally uses his bad hand to hoist himself up that she gives any indication that she is aware of his presence. Her steps falter for a fraction of a second before she straightens her back, regains her footing, and steps into the SUV, slamming the door shut behind her. 

The car ride is tense to say the least. She resolutely avoids acknowledging him during the 20-minute journey, pressing her body as close to the door and as far away from him as possible. He tries to give her the space she so adamantly desires, but can’t help himself from glancing in her direction every few seconds. He does what he’s done for years and admires her from afar, observing the loose hair that falls down her back in silky waves and admiring how the passing street lights make her skin glow against the deep blue of her dress. He opens his mouth a few times but stops himself from speaking. 

The throbbing in his hand becomes much more prominent in the silence. 

They reach the base and before the car has even come to a full stop Jemma is leaping out and stomping away from him. He moves to follow her but is stopped by another SHIELD agent who tells him to head to the medical bay before attending the briefing. His hand is already turning a splotchy purple but before he can grow queasy from the sight the medical doctor is covering it with a stark-white wrap. He’s given a bag of ice and a few Advil with the confirmation that he has a possible fracture, and is promptly sent on his way. 

By the time he reaches the pseudo-living room of the base, the team has gathered around the table and Jemma has changed into a pair of SHIELD-issued sweats. He sits on the couch’s armrest (the furthest spot from Jemma who is sandwiched between Trip and the other arm) and manages a small grin when Skye leans over May and gives him a thumbs-up. The grin vanishes instantly when Jemma looks over shaking her head at Skye, who has the decency to look properly chastised, and glares at him before turning her attention to Coulson. 

“Despite the unexpected event that ended the evening…” Coulson gives him a ratherpointed look while he speaks, “The mission was a success. Fitz managed to extract the data from Franklin’s hard-drive and, thanks to Simmons, our host remained none the wiser.” Fitz’s good fist clenches at this and he can feel more than see Skye shaking with laughter. He looks over to see her covering her mouth as Jemma huffs in irritation, her own fists mirroring his. 

Coulson seems to notice the tension between the two because he changes the subject and begins discussing the data they acquired. Fitz does his best to listen but finds himself getting lost in his own mind, replaying the events of the evening. It’s not until May gives him a sharp elbow to the ribs that he realizes Coulson is speaking to him. 

“Sorry sir?” He swears he hears a distinctly feminine voice mutter something about paying attention but doesn’t let his eyes stray away from the Director. “Your hand Fitz. What’s the damage?” He stares down at his hand, realizing for the first time since the meeting started how much it’s starting to hurt and wishing they’d be a bit more generous with the pain meds around the base. “Fractured sir.” 

He turns his head when Skye lets out a low whistle, “Damn Fitz, you really put your back into it.” He shrugs noncommittally, fully aware that every member of the team is now staring at him. He cautions a glance towards Jemma and is taken aback by her expression. It’s not exactly welcoming, but it’s the first time since the gala that she doesn’t look like she’ll kill him. She’s staring at his hand, likely assessing the poor bandage job it had been given, with a look that he swears resembles her usual mother-hen face. She looks up and catches his gaze, quickly putting her stoic mask in place and looking away. He swallows, placing his hands in his lap, and focuses on the dull ache in his knuckles for the rest of the debriefing. 

When Coulson finally dismisses them, Jemma is the first to leave while he is the last to remain. Skye ruffles his hair on her way out offering a simple, “I’m team Fitz on this one,” before motioning him in the direction of Jemma’s room. He waits another few minutes before removing himself from the couch and making his way down the hall to the third door on the left. He takes his time getting there and waits another minute before drawing the courage to knock. 

To his surprise she actually opens the door. 

He’s less surprised when a second later it slams in his face. 

“Jemma.” It sounds a bit pathetic in his own ears, pleading with a smidge of desperation and a hint of panic. “Go away Fitz. I don’t want to hear it.” It’s probably a bad idea, but he didn’t hear the lock click, so he turns the knob of the door and walks in. She’s sitting on her bed when he enters but is standing in an instant. He hadn’t come up with a plan and decides that the best way to approach the irate woman in front of him is by starting with the obvious. “I’m sorry.” 

It flips a switch because Jemma goes from standing in stony silence to yelling loud enough that he thinks everyone in the base can hear. “You’re _sorry_?! Fitz you behaved like a complete child and compromised the mission!” He rolls his eyes a bit at this, which sets her off. “We’re a _team_ Fitz. Not you and me, all of us. We spent a _week_ strategizing this op and you decide to throw it all out the window by punching the host, our _target,_ because he was _talking_ to me?” She’s livid, unleashing everything she’s kept at bay since his fist collided with Franklin’s nose. “What the hell Fitz? What were you _thinking?”_  

“I’m sorry. It was just a moment of stupidity, alright? Just a brief lapse in judgment.” She hasn’t moved a muscle, her arms are crossed and her gaze would rival that Medusa. “I realize that you are fully capable of handling yourself and that I had no right to behave the way I did.” Reprimanding himself seems to be the way to go because her eyebrow quirks up, egging him to continue. “We went in knowing that your mission required you to seduce Franklin and I just… well I didn’t think you’d be quite so good at it.” Whatever progress he’d made was thrown out the window with that statement. Jemma is suddenly in his face, eyes blazing with a look that suddenly reminds him of the berserker staff. 

“Oh, I’m _so_ sorry for doing my job. So _sorry_ that there exists in the world a man who miraculously finds me _attractive_ and can actually _appreciate_ me.” This both stuns and angers him. The emotions he’d felt all night watching Franklin leer at Jemma, whispering in her ear and skimming his hand down her back, come reeling back and for the second time that night he loses control. “That bloody idiot didn’t appreciate _you_ Jemma! He appreciated the low-cut of your dress and the fact that if he looked at the right angle he could see…” He doesn’t finish his sentence because her hand flies towards his face, delivering the single most painful slap he’s ever been on the receiving end of. 

It’s deathly quiet, save for their heavy breathing, and he becomes acutely aware of his aching hand and stinging face. “Get out.” He can hear the fury in her voice, but she cracks on the second word, making it easy to identify the underlying pain. He turns his head to face her. There are unshed tears in her eyes and she looks as miserable as he feels. “Jem…” She turns away from him and he knows it’s to hide the tears that have started to fall. “Just get out Fitz.” 

He doesn’t want to. He wants to stay and let her yell at him, slap him, whatever it takes to get back to FitzSimmons. He misses his friend and wishes that the chasm that has grown between them would dissipate. They’ve lost sync with one another, always a beat off and a step apart. He wants to fix this rift and fall back into a life of complete synergy. 

Instead he does as she asks and moves to the door. He grasps the handle and is suddenly overcome with the sick feeling that when he shuts the door behind him he’ll be closing off more than just a small room in a bunker. He stops himself before leaving and turns back to look at the first and best friend he’s ever had. 

“You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. You look better in a lab coat than all those other women at the gala looked in their thousand dollar dresses. You’re brave and kind and all I’ve ever wanted to do since the moment we’ve met is make you smile. You’re a bloody genius Jemma. Don’t be stupid enough to believe that nobody appreciates you.” 

He closes the door behind him as the sound of wracking sobs follows him to his room.


End file.
